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Scotch Journal
There's a strange sensation of satisfaction and arousal when you are the source of someones pain. It's hard to explain but, it's almost like I am dependent on causing pain to others in order to feel happy. My name is Jeremy Scotch. I remember the first time I caused someone pain, it was about 9 years ago when I was 12. The school I attended was only a few minutes away so my parents would let me walk there. I made up multiple routes for me to walk depending on the mood I was in. This is important because I remember taking the path I would walk whenever I felt down, this was October 5, 2005. School was done, and I took my designated route to try to cheer me up. I got a C on my history test and I knew my parents were going to get all hyped up because of it. My journey began instantly after I walked out the door, the friends I had were only friends in school; we never hung out or walked the same path so I would just leave right away. The path began with me crossing the narrow one way street which was almost always empty. Then I walked up the street heading towards a path next to the bridge, this path would go under the bridge and get you to the other side. I'd take this path because there were normally plenty of butterflies fluttering around the flowers and somehow that just made me feel better. Now, the day I decided to go back there weren't any butterflies. I noticed that much later. I made it to the part of the path that was a sharp turn that would take you behind a giant cement column that sustained the bridge, you couldn't see around the column until you made it to that turn. I heard strange noises, sounded like someone moaning but painfully. I peered around the corner and saw these two guys standing over someone on the floor. I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, but all I could see a huge puddle of blood around it. The two kicked the individual two or three more times and ran off in the opposite direction. I immediately turned the corner and pressed myself against the wall. My heart was racing and I felt terrified. I was about to see a person dying right before my eyes. I don't know why I didn't just run away, now that I look back on it I guess it was just meant to be. I slowly turned the corner and walked down the path, I could clearly see it was another man. He was covered in gashes and in some parts I could see bones. He was squirming around, trying to grab a hold of the floor in an attempt to stand. The two men apparently had attacked him with machetes and abandoned his body there thinking he was done for. Strangely enough I felt like this man could be saved, sure he had lost all this blood but he was still holding on to dear life. I got close to him, observing his torn up body when he grabbed onto my pants. I panicked and kicked him in the face, I screamed at him and saw him spit out blood. The fear faded, and I no longer felt like shaking. I felt, happy. I felt like a surplus of energy was just now coursing through my body. I kicked him in the face again. He squirmed around again and his arms were moving frantically around him, his movements caused the blood to splatter around the area. I laughed at him as I continued to kick him in the face as hard as I could. I was kicking him in the mouth and I could see his teeth flow out of his mouth in bloody globs. I don't know how long I was kicking him, but I stopped when I realized he was no longer moving and that his mouth was caved in to the point that blood was barely gushing out anymore. To think my new little hobby was based off of fear. Even though this man posed no threat to me, I was afraid of him. Afraid of his dying self. But the moment my foot made contact I felt powerful, and felt like this was the right thing to do. Not in the sense of putting him out of his misery, more so just the feeling of having caused someone so much pain in an already broken state being all I desired. He sure wasn't the last, but he was the one I thought of the most. The police found the body and almost instantly found the killers, just never connected me to the crime. I never took the path again, just in case. Category:Diary/Journal Category:Mental Illness